Dry Eyes
by joryuukage
Summary: “Shinichi’s gone,” the small boy explains softly, after a moment. ‘Gone.’ Not left. Gone. One-shot.


"…Ran

"…Ran?"

Her heart jumps to her throat at that sound, that voice saying her name. How long has it been since she last heard it? A month; a year? She doesn't know exactly how long it's been, but it doesn't matter, because even if it had only been an hour, it still felt like an eternity.

Her throat tightens, constricting her vocal cords so that she has to force his name past her own lips.

"Shinichi…?" she whispers cautiously. He doesn't answer, not even to confirm her suspicions, but somehow, his silence does that for him. She feels the sting of tears behind her eyes, and blinks furiously in an effort to will them away. It doesn't work, and a single tear slides down her cheek, landing softly on the cotton of her shirt. But she does not break down. She is stronger than that, she tells herself, and knows it to be true. When she speaks again, she can hear the pain in her voice, but she does her best to ignore it, to act as though this is just another phone call. "Shinichi, is that you?"

When he still doesn't answer, it's as if the silence is tangible. It doesn't matter if it is or not, or if it's just a clever metaphor to try and rank the unrankable, because hearing the silence on the other end of the phone is enough to make her heart constrict, to send a ripple through her composure.

"Shinichi, _answer me!_" the pain in her throat from trying unsuccessfully to keep her tears at bay makes her voice unintentionally sharp, but even that is not as sharp at the unmistakable pain twisting itself through her heart. Her heart is breaking. She can literally feel her heart breaking.

Despite her desperate plea, she is met with only his silence for almost a full minute more before he speaks.

"I'm sorry,"

His words are spoken softly, so softly they are nearly a whisper, but there is emotion behind them, more emotion that she would have thought possible for only speaking two words. The cold feeling of dread begins to coil in her stomach, but before she can even begin to form her response, to question his apology or attempt to turn it into a joke she doesn't know, he is speaking again, cutting her off unknowingly. He speaks one word, and then he hangs up.

"Goodbye,"

And then the dial tone is in her ear, and she just stands there, long after the sound of the dial tone has grown loud enough to fill the whole office space with its somehow patronizing reminder of the ended call.

'_For how long?'_ she wants to ask, even though it's been now a full minute since the hang up, even though she's fairly certain that she knows how long it's going to be this time.

**Forever.**

The single word echoes inside her mind with more clarity and strength than the empty echo of the dial tone, and is this reminder, this betrayal coming from inside her own mind, that sends her to her knees, receiver clattering to the floor beside her, tears streaming steadily down her cheeks. She can't believe it. She doesn't cry out, not in either haltered or anguish, but merely sits there, staring blankly into the distance as if it holds the answers she so desperately needs.

Next to her, the receiver is bobbing up and down lightly thanks to it's cord, like a bungee jumper after his fall, but she does not think to hang it up. She cannot think. It hurts too much.

She is still staring into the distance when her father enters the room, investigating the sound of the dial tone. She doesn't respond when he calls for her, even when his calls grow in volume and increasing level of panic. She is only dimly aware of the sound of him picking up the receiver and dialing someone. She can hear the conversation, but it doesn't register. Not even that he is calling the person on the other end "Eri".

He wraps his arms around her, and she feels that. The sound of his quickened heartbeat as her head is pressed firmly against his chest seems to draw her partially out of her stupor, enough to speak anyway.

"Daddy,"-God, she hadn't called him that since she was five, not since the last time she had called him in to check for monsters under her bed. Vaguely, he wonders what sort of monster he has been called upon to dispel this time, before he's focusing on her again.-"He's gone, Daddy. He left me."

Kogoro doesn't need to ask for clarification. He knows there's only one person she could mean, only one person with the power over her to send her into this kind of state, and has before, though not with this same kind of ferociousness.

Kudou Shinichi.

Anger wells up in him. But in spite of it, he finds he does not want to rip the boy to shreds, as he has before. He knows that now, despite his anger, and despite his distaste for the boy, he would venture through every layer of hell and back to drag Kudou here, if only it would stop his daughter's tears.

He hears the agency door open, and knows it to be Eri. Solemnly, he relinquishes their daughter to her, and briefly explains that he has an ass to kick. He does not check the caller ID to see weather or not the call had been made in the area. As much as he may dislike Kudou, he still understands him, and knows the call has been made from within the district. Within the block, even. _Coward_, he thinks venomously, anger welling up within him at the idea of Shinichi not even having the courage to face his daughter.

He exits the agency building, intent on finding him. He walks quickly, as if afraid of loosing the nonexistent trail, but he does not have to go far before he finds someone. Not the someone he was looking for, but a someone nonetheless.

"Brat," he greets in a low growl, standing next to the child on the swing. Silently, Kogoro takes in the oversized clothes, and the quiet, defeated posture. His head is down, and the glare from the late afternoon sun makes it impossible to see his eyes, for the shadows. He is missing his glasses.

"Shinichi's gone," the small boy explains softly, after a moment.

'Gone.'

Not left. Gone.

Mouri Kogoro may never have been the brightest bulb in the box, but he was still enough of a detective to put together the clues when blatantly presented with them. With a sigh, he feels his anger collectively dissipate, replaced with sadness.

"I know," was all he said, hoping to convey as much as he could without explaining himself that he understood.

The boy nodded, either to complete the circle of silent understanding or merely to acknowledge Kogoro's words. Either way, he stood on top of the swing and rocked slowly back and forth, until he had built enough momentum that he was swinging, shaking the poles cemented in the ground, threatening to pull them out with each backward and forward motion.

Then, suddenly, he catapulted himself forward, arms and legs flailing, to land in something akin to a heap at the edge of the soft, protective sand. He lay there for a moment, silent and unmoving.

Kogoro walked over to him when it seemed unlikely that he would be getting up, concerned, when he stood, with all the grace and poise of a cat, instead of the nine-year-old boy he seemed to be.

"Let's go back," he suggests, and Kogoro has just enough time to wonder when he'd put his glasses back on before he has to move lest he loose the boy in the heavy pedestrian traffic. As he walks behind him, Kogoro marvels at the boys dry eyes.

Edogawa Conan looks up at the building-laced sky, knowing things will never be the same, but unable to feel bad about it. Momentarily, he wonders fancifully what it would be like to fly, before he sighs, locking his eyes straight ahead, as if looking towards the future. He has things to do. People to protect, cases to solve, an organization to thwart, a lie to uphold, and a new found sister to piece back together.

Silently he wonders if he will ever find the time to cry.


End file.
